quinta-feira, 27 de novembro de 2014

Why I write

I write because the world is confusing
And my talk is a way to signify it

I write because somewhere
A child dies hungry
While we toast to daily small successes
Quenching other hungers

I write because right now
A man jumps from a bridge
Because he couldn’t understand the works
And he had to drink a lot
He had to run like crazy
Working like a slave
Earning money
And in the end, there was just him
Human, fragile, minimal, weary
Fighting the same fight
Caught on the ropes

I write because the day is a cell
With no door or window
And maybe I can knock down the walls
With the subtlety of a metaphor
Like a rose bleeding a landscape

I write as someone who shoots himself in the head

Waiting to live forever.

quinta-feira, 20 de novembro de 2014

Seed in the summer

I woke in the morning
But the morning didn’t wake in me.
I see the sun shining
But it’s not shining for me.
I feel the refreshing air
Filling the space around
But my lungs now rather smoke cigarettes
I can hear a poem
Knocking on my brain’s door
I invite it to come
Desiring its words, blessed by pleasure
But they only have the manure of daily life
Offered to me as necessary and irrefutable food
And I need to get used to it
       -  to sprout cold and lonely
As a buried seed in the summer.

sexta-feira, 24 de outubro de 2014

Corpo

(Poesia recuperada do antigo diário das marés)

O teu imenso mar de possibilidades,
          corpo,
é saber que tua forma é cotidiana
e que teu sangue pulsa
nas artérias das cidades.

O silêncio acumulado das tardes
— jogado a óleo de máquina em tua cara —
é a tinta com que constróis disfarces —
eterna criança brincando em teu jardim.

E à noite, espalhado pelo quarto,
                                          sorrateiro,
te confortas no abraço
de um cigarro qualquer,
buscando, na fumaça, tua matéria e o teu alento.